Five Senses
by Rabid Lola
Summary: Kurogane x Tomoyo. Yes, the title's not very creative. Ficlets made for the LJ Community 5sense.
1. Chapter 1

Made for the LJ community 5sense**  
**

**Title:** Prose and Poetry  
**Fandom:** Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle  
**Pairing/Character:** Kurogane/Tomoyo  
**Rating:** G  
**Theme: **Movement  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own TRC. Or Kurogane. Or Tomoyo. :) And this was inpired by the lovely avatar Yuji made for this pairing.

Movement

Motion.

Movement.

The lack of stillness; the transition from one place, one position, to another. A state of change in between potentiality and actuality, something that was actual but not completely—she could have given that definition, too, but it was a tad too philosophical, and right now she did not want to think philosophically.

_ I do it far too often for it to be healthy_.

The Princess Tomoyo sat by an elaborate window, chin in hand, jewel-like eyes fixed on the garden outside. Gold sunlight streamed through the glass, following the fall of her long, night-colored hair, the curve of her cheek, her shoulder, her back, illuminating the rich purple of her robes. Her other hand toyed idly with a paintbrush—she had meant to write, or to sketch, because she hadn't done anything so quietly productive in so long (her past few days had been filled with judging oh-so-thoroughly-snarled cases and settling poisonous arguments) and she needed the break.

_ Motion, movement, _had been suggested to her, and she had tried to set her mind on it, but as too often happened nowadays, her mind was on someone else.

_ I haven't the faintest idea of where he is, or how he is, and it actually bothers me,_ she thought wryly. A wicked grin curved her mouth upwards. _Hmph. He's a big boy, he can take care of himself.  
_

_ Most of the time. _Her eyes softened, and she straightened up and laid the hand that had previously been cradling her chin down on the table. The one holding the brush jerked up, tentatively, and then the brush tip dipped down into a pot of jet-black ink. She had always been better with words than with pictures; she tried to capture Kurogane, his speed, his skill, his strength, in a few well-chosen words. But little things slipped in, too—his mannerisms, his stance when he wasn't fighting, his walk when he was relaxed, his way of tilting his head, his way of speaking, breathing, living, moving.

_ If motion were put into words, Kurogane would be prose, _she thought whimsically. Straightforward, to the point, but with an art about it that made it beautiful. (He would _hate _that last description).

_ I…I guess I would be poetry. _This came dispassionately. She knew that was what she was like, in her movements and her words—elusive, layered, confusing, but rhythmic, graceful, flowing.

(And even he can't read me, but he can, more than most.)

Only Souma knew this, but many times she had asked Kurogane to train her, to teach her how to use a sword. It had taken much persuasion, but he was a good teacher when he finally relented. And she was, he said grudgingly, a fair pupil. "But you move too much like you're dancing, dammit," he had growled at her. "A fight is often called a warrior's dance, granted, but you make it look like a pansy fan thing."

She had laughed and taken no offense. "I think that's just me. Souma doesn't move this way. She moves like you." No frills, no fanciness. None more than necessary.

Prose and poetry. _Neither is more beautiful than the other. But like all opposites, you need one to see the other in its fullness.  
_

A small laugh threatened to bubble up in her throat. She could see him now, had he been here, peering over her shoulder at what she was writing. Then she would probably explain to him what she'd just been thinking, in that half-teasing tone she loved to use on him, just to see how he would react. And he would snort and say she was being such a girl.

She bit her lip at that sudden sharp image of him. The hand holding the paintbrush shook; she set it down, and tried to take a deep breath; shook her head and buried her head in her arms in one abrupt movement.

_ You would hate to see this weakness from me…but be safe, and come back soon, my ninja.  
_

Worlds and worlds away, Kurogane watched Syaoran practice with a sword. And though he'd find it damned scary if the boy had started to _dance_, he found himself missing the pansy-fan-thing he'd once condemned.

-EnD-


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Two  
**Fandom: **Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle  
**Pairing/Character:** Kurogane/Tomoyo  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** ...The last one wasn't too sappy. This one is. XD  
**Disclaimer:** TRC not mine. :D

**A/N**: Kurogane, Sakura, KuroTomo, introspective. Enjoy. Set after Piffle Country, at any random moment.

Ah, and note. These are Kurogane's thoughts, probably, but not his words. Because honestly...I don't think Kurogane would be this poetically sappy.

* * *

Her laugh was different. It was sweeter and more childlike—in fact, much as he hated to admit it, so was her smile.

_(In spite of how young she looked, **her** laugh—not the one she loved doing whenever she made fun of him—was quieter, gentler, lower. Not less in mirth, just less in volume._

_And even if she had the sweeter smile, **hers** was the brighter one.)_

Her attitude was sweeter, too. She was a charmer, this one. A naïve, lovable charmer. Her kindness and compassion were so natural, so unpretentious—really, it was easy to see why the kid loved her.

_(**Her** attitude was not as gentle. She was gracious, she was strong; she carried wisdom well on her young shoulders, and was warm and feisty and playful instead of tender and innocent.)_

She was the color of rosy cream, and her beauty was that of effervescent sunlight. A smile that beamed, green eyes like jade, and hair bleached light-brown-gold from the desert sun.

_(**Her** beauty was that of a clear, perfect night; skin white as moon, hair black as sky, eyes dark as the still, deep pools of her gardens, and carriage as calming as the subtle night zephyrs through the trees.)_

Kurogane let out an exasperated breath.

_In the beginning, he had been loyal to one princess, and one princess alone. _

"Yeah. She'll understand," he muttered under his breath.

_You are the first and foremost for me, always, you know that. _

_And I swear I don't know how in hell this happened. I hope you won't see it as betrayal. _

_But for a while now, and from now on, I'll be protecting another princess, too. _

"Father," he growled. "Damn him, honestly." _Now this…this urge to look after her won't leave me alone. _

In his shadow, cushioned by a heavy black cloak and waiting for Fye and Syaoran's return, Sakura slept soundly, trusting completely in her newfound protector.  
_  
(In Japan, gazing up at the moon, Tomoyo smiled, happy that her ninja was learning to be strong for others.) _

-eNd-

(339 words) 


End file.
